


The Trials of Feasting

by BrokenKestral



Series: Whumptober2020 [12]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Accidents, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Scheming, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27263008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenKestral/pseuds/BrokenKestral
Summary: Peter is (forcibly) invited to visit a lady, and being a good King, he goes.
Series: Whumptober2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970584
Kudos: 17
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	The Trials of Feasting

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober Prompt 28: Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops.  
> Accidents / Hunting Season

“It was accidental, my brother.”

Peter pinched his nose while squeezing both eyes shut. Susan’s soft tone held true apology and deep regret. But still…“How do you promise your royal brother’s presence at a dinner by  _ accident _ ?”

“She offered to clear the Forgotten Pass to Archenland, which leads into her estate, if we did her a small favor in return. She promised it would take no more than an evening, and I agreed. She said she wished to invite Narnian Royalty to her home by the cleared path, so that we could see for ourselves how closely we reside. I said I would be delighted to come, but she pointed out you were hunting there tomorrow eve, and it would be most useful for you to see the path for future use, and more, that she would not feel she was burdening us by her request.” Susan shrugged helplessly. “Perhaps our brother Edmund would be alert enough to foresee her traps, but I pray your pardon, brother, I expected none.”

Peter sighed. Lady Jarmina had proved herself irreproachably polite, and yet quite clever at getting out of social obligations she did not prefer attending. What neither he nor Susan had expected was this emerging talent for maneuvering others into social obligations they might not prefer. 

“I can come hunting with you, and go myself,” Susan offered, anxious eyes on him, and Peter smiled wryly. She must feel truly awful if she was offering to come hunting. The best archer of Narnia never felt it fair to hunt using such skills. 

“I think I can manage such a distasteful task without offending our neighbor, fair sister. I do beg your pardon for my conduct; I know this is not wish nor fault of yours.”

“You are sure? Truly, I can come.”

“You are needed much more here, and perhaps, if she has wits to set such a bargain, the evening will not be without entertainment. Clever people often make good hosts.”

And so it was. Peter hunted the next day with several others, riding into Archenland with permission to find the dumb beasts in greater numbers, for winter was coming. Susan wisely stocked many of Cair Paravel’s cellars so no Narnians who came for food during winter would be turned away. They had good hunting, and Peter sent the warriors and prizes to the nearby royal lodge with his sister Lucy, who rode to practice her archery. Then he sighed, and turned his mount’s head towards Lady Jarmina’s slightly decaying mansion, just to one side of the newly cleared path. He found the servants waiting for him, a cup of warm cider just inside the door, and the feast ready but the food still warm. Lady Jarmina sat herself too far away for conversation, clearly not using this to trap a King for an evening’s flirtation, and the old men on either side were truly interested in his hunt, and told him many tales of old Archenland hunting that would help them in the future. The lady glanced over from time to time, and twice signaled servants to fill his plate or glass, but seemed preoccupied with a conversation with a gray-haired man to her right. 

The fourth course was served (Peter quietly thought he much preferred the Narnian way of serving most of the food at once, but the food was good), and then the fifth.

And Peter, weary from a day of exercise and far too much food, grew internally impatient. He missed his family, the warmth of his home, and his bed. 

The last course, and Peter’s smiles became more genuine. Soon, it would be over. 

And it was at that moment that a half-running servant caught his eye. The servant sped to Lady Jarmina’s side, bending to whisper in her ear, and for the first time Peter saw her lose her noted composure and frown. And though she responded, with decisive hand-motions, the frown stayed. The servant left, she stood, and the conversations died away.

“Honored guests, it has been a long evening of food and excellent company, and now I pray for many of you, give me the grace of letting us skip the ending of our feast with the customary drinks, and may speed and safety see you home.” Peter and the others hastily stood, bowing or curtseying their thanks. Peter turned to leave, puzzled but not unhappy, only to see the servant at his elbow.

“If the High King would follow me?” The pleading look on his face made Peter hesitate to refuse. He nodded, but as they walked into a dark hallway checked that his sword was within easy reach of his hand, and his hunting dagger’s sheath unlatched. 

The darkness did not last long, the servant opening a door filled with firelight, and Peter entered a library, smelling of dust and old paper, with worn and warping shelves on all the walls. But near the fire stood several chairs, and there, standing by the fire as tall as he was, was a familiar figure!

“Edmund, my brother!” Peter called, letting go of his weapons and striding forward. He clasped his arms, relaxing as he saw Edmund’s face bore no worry. “What brings you here?”

“I wished to see the pass cleared, and, perhaps, to rescue you,” Edmund finished in a lower tone, though the servant had bowed and left, closing the door. “You look tired, my brother, but not beset. All went well?”

“Better than my expectation, but longer than my wish. You truly came to see the pass?”

“And Oreius did not like you riding back in the dark, even to the hunting lodge. But there, I hear our hostess. I have not met her yet, you will keep that in mind?”

And Peter thought that perhaps here, too, was another motive of his brother’s. She had maneuvered an unsuspecting Susan, and Edmund would want to assess her himself. So as his hostess entered he bowed to her, catching Edmund’s similar offering from the corner of his eye. “Lady Jarmina, our apologies for such an unexpected visit. You do not know, I think, my royal brother King Edmund? Brother, this is our host, and a most generous one she has proven this night.”

“I like to give gifts,” their hostess said in her cool voice. “As the feast was dismissed without the drinks, I thought perhaps you would like to honor the Archenland custom here with your brother and myself?” Three servants followed her, each bearing a goblet, and Peter nodded resignedly. He really was quite full. 

“Perhaps I should take my brother’s,” came Edmund’s soft voice. “He, I fear, must have a clear head to guide us back tonight, yet I have an abiding thirst from my ride.” Peter frowned at Edmund; it was rude to refuse their hostess, but he caught the look in his brother’s glittering eyes as they stayed fixed on their hostess, and realised that he did not like Lady Jarmina. 

And the lady was hesitating. Edmund did not, reaching for the glass, raising it to their hostess, and taking a single drink before setting it down. “And now, I fear, due to the lateness of the hour we must be leaving. Your good health, Lady, and perhaps we may come by again.”

“Truly, King Edmund? I do not think you will.” Peter turned to her, for the voice was not sad, but contemplative and cold, and he saw her eyes were as fixed on Edmund as his had been on her, and then Peter saw a smile start. A satisfied, slightly mocking smile, and then the lady lunged forward, catching a suddenly falling Edmund, and by the time Peter had his sword unsheathed both lady and King were on the floor, and a dagger glinted at Edmund’s throat.

“Years,” she said softly, looking at Peter. “Years this took. Years I watched my inheritance crumble, years when I had no way to build it up again.” Peter barely heard her, his eyes on Edmund, whose breathing grew shallow as his face paled.

“What have you done to my brother?”

“But one way, one way opened to me, to preserve the wealth of my ancestors—the riches of Narnia so near. If you, High King were to fall, enemies would attack from the North, more from the sea, and a small raiding party, plundering another edge, would have gone unnoticed.”

“ _ What have you done to my brother?!” _

“There was poison meant for your goblet in that last drink before the feast ceased, and all my neighbors would have sworn you never arrived, that you had a hunting accident in the woods before you ever reached this place. Over your dead body we would have sworn to each other to be our own army.”

“I will not ask you a fourth time, lady. What have you to my brother.”

She looked down at the head in her lap. “There was poison in both your cups,” she said calmly.

“A poison—which one? What is it’s cure?”

“Why does it matter?” She looked up at him, her hand steady under Edmund’s chin. 

“Because my brother is not dying tonight.”

She smiled again, that slow, satisfied, slight smirk. “You both are,” she said softly. “Your brother still breathes, but if you do not let your sword and dagger fall, I will end his life still sooner.” She pressed her dagger against the Just King’s throat, and Peter stopped breathing.

He could see Edmund’s eyes, dazed, blinking, aware enough not to move, and anger stirring in their depths. 

“Lady, set down the dagger, and I will see you sent to King Lune for trial. Push that dagger one hair more into my brother’s neck, and you will not live to leave the room.” She tilted her head, watching him.

“You mean that.”

“My word to Aslan; set the dagger down.”

Her smirk grew, and Peter did not wait for her to respond, but threw the hunting dagger into her own throat, watching as her hands came up instinctively to it before she fell backwards, and then he was on his knees, pulling Edmund close. “Edmund, can you breathe?”

“Hard,” his brother rasped, and Peter looked at the door. 

“The hunting lodge and our royal sister are less than one hour away. Stay with me. I will get you to her, but  _ stay with me _ ,  _ Edmund! _ ” Edmund blinked, that trust clear in his eyes, and Peter swung his brother up, then hoisted him over his shoulders, carrying him as a huntsman carries his kill. 

But  _ Edmund was not dead _ . Ignoring the dead lady on the floor, Peter left the library and snuck to the stables, seeing what Edmund must have seen on his way in, that the servants stayed hidden, daily fear keeping them out of sight. Peter made it to the stables, finding Edmund’s horse still saddled, and slung his brother over the saddle before mounting himself. He gathered his brother up, grabbed the reins, and spurred the horse for the pass.

“Please, Aslan, keep him alive,” the High King whispered, his arms brushing over his brother’s chilled hands.”

“‘M here,” Edmund muttered, and Peter’s heart pounded at the slur brought back to him by the wind. 

“Stay, my brother.  _ Stay. _ ”

He said it over and over, through the long ride, till at last the lights of the lodge were in sight, and he yelled for Lucy. She ran out, dagger and cordial still with her, and he let himself slide off the horse, Edmund in his arms, staggering to lay their brother at Lucy’s feet. She dropped without question, already unscrewing the top, and though her shadow blocked the drop falling, both Pevensies could see the Just King take in an easy breath, and Peter pulled both siblings into a hug.

“Peter,” Edmund said at last, more aware than the High King of the warriors currently watching them. “Let me go, or I swear, I will find a way to get you invited to another feast  _ by accident _ .”


End file.
